


What Needs Must

by ajfessler



Series: The Marksmen [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajfessler/pseuds/ajfessler
Summary: There was no clock in his apartment to mark the passage of time with incessant ticking. There were no noisy neighbors to break the silence. There was only the change of the light and the ebb and flow of New York traffic from the bustling street below. Time was infinite and inconsequential.Phil Coulson was an elite agent at one of the most public and prestigious intelligence agencies the worldwide. He would know, part of his job was to maintain relations with all the rest to keep communication channels open. He had long known that there were missions of such importance to the world that they received the nomenclature by any means necessary.Phil had never expected by any means necessary to apply to his assignments.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as Phil Coulson has a terrible, no good, really horrible bad day and Clint and Tony make it better. 
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** PHIL GETS RAPED. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IF THIS IS AN ISSUES FOR YOU DO NOT READ.
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~ Update 01/27:  
> Disclaimer: Phil gets raped off-camera and talks about it, there is actually nothing particularly violent contained in my story. 
> 
> I love all my readers and would NEVER EVER want to cause anyone any distress so if for any reason rape/sexual assault causes you problems of any sort, please go and read something else, preferably of mine. :)
> 
> To anyone who has, or is suffering from sexual assault/rape, I hope and pray that you have awesome friends and family who know just how to be there and support you as you learn and grow from your horrific experience. Know that even though I do not know you, will never see you, hear you or hold you that I love you dearly and cherish you always. You are a unique star among a sea of inky velvet, and you are perfect. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> -AJ 
> 
> P.S. This is a repost. Somehow I managed to upload my story twice, and in the process of removing one instance, managed to delete both of them.

Phil Coulson had never needed to keep time in his apartment. He had an alarm clock in the bedroom and a watch for his wrist. In nearly a decade of service, that had been all Phil had needed to ensure timely and prompt arrivals. The lack of timepieces had never bothered him until Phil decided that he wasn’t going to work. Perhaps not ever again. 

To occupy his attention, Phil had stared at the wall opposite his favorite chair where he had curled up in old army sweats and his favorite afghan. Phil’s apartment wasn’t cold, and neither was he, but the comfort both the garments and blanket provided out-weighted the discomfort. He had sat for hours and cataloged the imperfections of the wall to keep his mind from turning over the events of his latest mission. The crack above the door had taken him a good chunk of the morning. It was seemingly straight running diagonally from the upper left-hand corner of the door to the corner of his apartment. Upon closer inspection, though it became apparent that crack was not actually straight. It took jaunty twists and turns before disappearing. Phil had spent hours memorizing every twist and jive of the crack. He had ignored the ringing of his phone and had then ignored the beeping of his pager. Both had gone off for hours, occasionally simultaneously. The cheery tune they sang failed to penetrate past the fog of self-loathing clouding his mind. 

Phil had known the moment the mission specifications had said by any means necessary that something was going to go horribly wrong with his initial plan of attack. It was almost inevitable, even with the leading genius of the century looking over his infiltration and extraction details. If there was anything that could be said for Tony Stark, it was that he was thorough to the point of obsessive. Phil knew first hand why the man was so obsessive about the little details of everything. Anyone who had been raised to the exacting standards of Howard Stark knew the value of perfection in the details. The Marksmen had only honed what Howard Stark had demanded. Phil did everything in his power to avoid the office with legitimate reasons whenever the elder Stark was due to be on site least he tries to take a swing at the weapons manufacturer. It was poor etiquette to start fist fights with founding members after all. 

Phil’s own father had been the picture of a doting parent and to see the lack of care and devotion that Howard showed towards his only son turned Phil’s stomach. There was absolutely no reason at all for Howard to treat Tony the way he did, and Phil had a few speculations, in light of the new information about the events of World War II he had received, just why Howard Stark was the man he had become. It didn’t excuse the actions or words, but it did explain things especially since Phil had learned there were HYDRA spies in Stark Industries. To the best of Phil’s knowledge those spies hadn’t gotten anywhere significant and were in fact weeded out almost as quickly as Phil could locate them, but more always seemed to be stationed in the wings to take their place. It was worryingly consistent and spoke of someone high enough up to control hiring picks pulling strings.

A knock on his door pulled Phil out of his musings. The list of likely visitors had grown by triple in the last year. Phil was still unsure if growth had been a good thing. It wasn’t that Phil didn’t like the company or enjoy the evenings that happened on his faded couch. It wasn’t that at all. Phil was a realist at heart and knew that while Clint and Tony seemed to enjoy his company now, they would, in time, drift away into nothingness as their lives became ever more hopelessly entwined with each other. It was the way of life, and as Phil had no interests or prospects in find a partner of a romantic nature, he knew that he was doomed to watch friendships bloom and die in an eternal cycle. So he ignored the knock. Best to get the abandonment out of the way early. It hurt less when he wasn’t so attached. 

A second knock, this one much more persistent and impatient, sounded before muffled conversation drifted in vague snatches to his ears. Phil could picture the scene. Clint in his stealth boots, black jeans baggy tee shirt, and leather jacket leaned against the door frame with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Tony in the middle of the hall in worn sneakers, faded blue jeans that he had likely stolen from James Rhodes and an MIT tee shirt would be gesturing wildly in an attempt to make his point to Clint. A point Clint had already acquiesced too as Phil well knew. There wasn’t a single thing Tony could ask of Clint that the archer wouldn’t find a way to produce. On rare occasions, Phil had witnessed the scene and craved that sort of care and devotion himself. The desire for a romantic partnership didn’t ever last long before Phil remembered just why he eschewed relationships. 

It didn’t take long for the conversation to finish before Phil heard the sound of footsteps marching away from his door. Only one set, but that wasn’t unusual Clint was as stealthy as a cat at the best of times. Tony had the skills to be Clint’s rival, but a life surrounded with the need to meet societal expectation had created a different set of instincts that Tony operated off. With a sigh, Phil closed his eyes and settled just a little farther down into his chair. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember and above all didn’t want to talk. There was nothing to say, Phil had done what needed to be done. Just because he was personally revolted and the very circumstances of the incident caused him to feel unclean and defiled didn’t mean that he hadn’t accomplished his job. 

Phil’s consciousness was drifting off slowly as sleep consumed him when he felt a presence appear beside him. Opening his eyes, Phil came face to face with Clint Barton’s worried countenance. The squeak of surprise and jolt of shock were purely instinctual. The fact that they cost Phil his precarious balance was neither here nor there. Flailing and bracing for impact with his floor as he fell out of his chair Phil waited for the inevitable. Except it never came, just a hard grip on his bicep that was sure to leave a bruise before Clint hauled him back into his chair. Gray eyes looked him over meticulously. Phil looked away and hated himself all the more as his cheeks burned with shame. Phil was sure the teenager could see it written, as clear as day, just how far Phil had been forced to let things get out of control on his most recent mission. It hadn’t been intentional. Phil had never had an issue warding off unwanted advances in the past. He was still unsure how the situation with Lady Blackthorn had degraded so quickly out of his control. All Phil had been required to do was retrieve a set of documents with several secrets that Fury had wanted out of her hands. The mission should have been simple. It should have been go in, get the papers and get out. The teenager staring so intently at him would have been able to pull the mission off in his sleep without resorting to contingency plans. Phil knew he had watched Clint run the same mission Phil had bungled a hundred times without ever once deviating from the agreed upon parameters. 

The precise syllables of a Long Island native broke the silence in his apartment by asking, “What’s wrong with him?” Phil closed his eyes and prayed they would just go away. If he ignored them long enough they might, both teens had lives and livelihoods to tend. 

“No idea, but something major I’d hazard. Never seen him like this before.” The softer cadence belayed the sheer will of steel Phil knew for a fact resided deep within the archer. Phil had watched Clint eviscerate targets with nothing more than a cold frown on his face and a knife in his hand only to moments later return to giving sarcastic, playful insults over the communication units. Phil had never seen the teenager have issues sleeping or startle awake from nightmares of the deeds he’s done. It was just another reminder of how inept Phil was for his employment. SHIELD needed agents like Clint, who were strong, capable and precision personified. Once more Phil considered turning in his resignation once he could convince himself to leave his apartment. SHIELD didn’t need agents like him. 

Gentle fingers carded through his hair making Phil squeeze his eyes shut tight and pray they went away soon. It wasn’t that Phil didn’t like being touched, he had loved the little signs of affection the teens had taken to giving him before the mission. Fingers through his hair after bad days, arms around shoulders in comradery, fist bumps, the aimless touches that came from sharing close quarters, warm bodies lean against his own when one or the other fell asleep watching the sinful indulgence of an in-home theater that Tony had insisted be installed in his apartment. That had all been normal and welcomed. Now it just made his stomach flip flop like he was about to vomit. Phil turned his head away and pulled his blanket closer. Perhaps they would just think his sick. 

Soft lips on his forehead made him jump again, this time Phil had been situated well enough in the chair he didn’t fall. The hand on his shoulder steadying him probably also helped. Without his consent, Phil’s eyes popped open to stare into soft honey brown depth. Once their gazes had locked, Phil felt paralyzed. Unable to move or think as that gentle, penetrating stare was locked on his own. The eyes in front of him darted back and forth several times, unmistakably taking in the subtle cues of the panic Phil could feel tearing away at his mind and gut before Tony Stark backed up and declared, “Shit” as he shoved a hand through his unruly locks. Phil just sat motionlessly and gazed as Tony turned back to him and gave him on more penetrating stare. The genius nodded at him before spinning elegantly on his heel and stalking out of the apartment. 

Phil continued staring at the closed door of his apartment. Fear coursing through him. They knew. Somehow the teens under his protection and guidance knew how royally Phil had screwed up. A movement to his right made him jump again. Turning his head, he watched Clint move away from the side of his armchair and settle himself down onto the couch. Phil noticed that the customary boots and leather jacket were missing. A glance around showed the boot neatly lined up near the door and the coat thrown over one of his dining table chairs. Phil’s gaze returned to the archer who had tucked his feet up under him Indian style and was now contemplating Phil with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on clasped hands. The serious look in the eyes regarding him was unusual as far as Phil knew. Clint seemed to have a perpetual jovial nature that took both the good and bad of life in stride. 

Phil couldn’t hold the archers gaze for long and looked down. Angry shouting in Italian drifted up from the street. Phil almost smiled, Tony Stark was a sight to behold when the remarkable control he had over his temper snapped. It didn’t happen often. Phil could count on one hand the number of times it had occurred in the last two years and still have fingers left over. A faint smile tried to make its way to his face, but faltered and died as memories of his last mission crowded back in, forcing him to remember just how many times he had smiled at Lady Blackthorn. A shudder ran through his frame just as Tony walked back through his front door. Perhaps he should stop smiling. 

The genius bites out, “Hervey durvey topsy-turvy street dancing.” Before slamming into Phil’s little galley kitchen and banging pots and pans out of cabinets onto counters. Phil couldn’t blink as his mind drew a blank on what that vaguely tongue twisting statement could have meant. 

To his right, he heard Clint sigh before there was a rustle of fabric. Phil turned his head to watch as Clint once more crossed the room to his chair. He could feel his muscles tense as the archer drew closer, but Clint didn’t touch him. Just settled as comfortably as possible on the arm of Phil chair before speaking quietly, voice as gentle and unthreatening as the archer was capable of, “You know a little about the training of the Marksman I’m sure. There is no way, as observant as you are, you haven’t picked up bits and pieces from Tony and me. And while I think SHIELD is a great organization in concept there is a lot that the structure lacks in execution.”

Phil was torn between shifting to lean into the offered warmth of the other man and trying to scoot farther away. Clint didn’t seem to notice Phil’s struggle as he merely shifted to lean an elbow along the back of the chair as the archer continued, “What I’d bet you don’t know is just how extensively the training to become a Marksman actually is, and just how thorough it is as well. EOA’s like Tony get a lot less of the hands-on training than Assets go through, which is what allowed him to enter and pass the training at such a young age. Training takes forty-two weeks. And is divided into roughly five, eight-week sections with a week long hiatus in-between each section for a total of forty-seven weeks. That’s almost an entire year of training time. Trainees are all lumped together in one big group until after the third section. That’s when things get precise to the type of Marksman a person is going to be.”

Phil gave up trying to move away from Clint and turned, so he was curled towards the archer. He told himself it was because he could listen better that way. Clint’s fingers brushed gently through Phil’s hair again, and this time Phil leaned closer as it soothed something painful deep in his chest. Clint’s fingers took up a soft rhythmic tracing as he continued speaking, “Section four for an Asset like me is called Physical Contact. It starts out with the basics of anatomy. Learning the soft spots of a body and the best ways to immobilize it. Right alongside that is also a lesson called the fundamentals of enticement. That’s where an Asset learns how to use their body as well as that of their mark to further the mission. At the time I thought it horrifying that someday I might have to use that knowledge to get out of a tight spot or get access somewhere for a mission. Tony explained it best later when he called it desensitizing training. At thirteen I knew more about sex and how to please the human body than most men three times my age.”

Phil shuddered, that was horrific. He sometimes forgot just how young the teenagers were, never forgot that they _were_ teenagers but more often than not, neither Clint nor Tony acted like seventeen-year-olds. They both as a whole made it easy to forget that they were members of the most highly trained, highly skilled assassination organization in the world. Phil shifted slightly, so his forehead rested against Clint’s chest where it leaned against the top corner of his chair. The change made thoughts spiral out of control inside his head. Was this too intimate? Would Clint think Phil wanted something more than just the touch? Would Tony say something?

The gentle fingers in his hair didn’t change their force or rhythm, didn’t falter at the change in position, and once Phil had mitigated his racing thoughts enough to notice outside data he discovered the heartbeat under his forehead was slow and steady, calm. Listening to it cause Phil to unconsciously relax further as Clint told him, “It’s okay to be upset, it’s okay to be disgusted, it’s okay to not be okay. If you want to talk details you know, we’ll listen, right? And not judge even the slightest cause I know I’ve been exactly where you’re sitting and I’m pretty sure Tony has too. Hurting, disgusted and hating myself for not being better or more prepared. But you gotta know Phil, sometimes there isn’t any other option. That’s why the Marksman include sex in their training. A lot of those missions you scoffed at me for taking was because Tony and I could see just where they might end up, and I’m good with using every tool at my disposal because I’ve been taught how too and I know how crappy that first time is, if I can spare some newb SHIELD agent who has no idea what kind of shit storm they are walking into well, I’ll do it. No one should have to feel like they’ve been raped cause they did their job.” 

Phil tensed again as the churning in his gut returned with a vengeance. The fingers in his hair didn’t stop, and Clint’s voice whispered distantly, “Shh, it’s ok, you’re safe. I promise you’re safe. No one here wants any more than you want to give. You just gotta let us know what you need. I got you, you’re safe. I promise.” 

The litany went on, repeating the promise that he was safe. Listening to the quiet absolute statement Phil could feel something weaseling its way through his center until the tableau of horror and fear broke. Warmth wrapped around his head, Clint’s fingers rubbing in gentle circles instead of carding through his hair. Phil didn’t know when he started shaking, didn’t perceive the moment when a second presence gently and slowly curled up against his spine bring with it the scent of sandalwood and oregano. Phil didn’t know how long the sat like that curled up around him, shielding him from the horrible reality he didn’t want to face. Tony’s voice weeded its way through the moment as he stated, “It helps to talk about what happened. It sucks at the same time, but it helps.” 

Phil nodded, he knew that it was in one of his psychology books. Something about verbalizing and closure. He didn’t want them to know. Didn’t want to hear them point out where he could have done something differently. Oblivious to the silent conversation going on over his head, Phil just shook his head no. A hand smoothed down along the length of Phil’s spine before settling and applying pressure. It took him a long moment to realize that Tony had used his back for leverage up out of the chair. There was a sigh in Tony’s voice when he said, “At least eat something, I slaved away at your terrible excuse of a stove.” 

Phil wanted to object, to say he wasn’t hungry but both his stomach and Clint took the choice out of his hands. The gentle gurgle of his stomach was felt at the same moment Clint told him, “Just try.” 

Phil capitulated, knowing that they would get their way eventually whether he liked it or not. Shifting gently away from Clint Phil noticed almost immediately that there was no disappointment in Clint’s expression as he sat up and moved to help Tony with whatever the genius had made with whatever was in Phil’s cupboards. He watched the conversation they had in his kitchen as they each moved around the other without hesitation. Phil watched as Clint kissed Tony’s cheek after the genius had declared something too soft for Phil to make out. Phil still wasn’t particularly adept at reading lips and the side view he was offered made deciphering whatever was being said particularly challenging. With a sigh, Phil started to unbundle himself and get up to grab his own plate. Before he could complete the process, Tony was there handing him a plate of pasta which was followed by Clint with a fork. Phil could only stare at them for a long moment as they settled next to each other on the couch and started eating as if this awkward silence was something that happened every time they stopped by for a visit. 

Phil lowered his gaze and focused on the pasta on the plate in his lap. He was almost fifteen years older than the inhabitants of his couch. It should be him taking care of them; not the other way around. Phil took a bite and instantly wanted more as he discovered he was starving. It helped that Tony was hands down the best cook he had ever experienced, which included two Michelin rated establishments. By the time Phil had finished the plate, the world felt less terrible. Fidgeting with his fork, he murmured, “Tressa Blackthorn, one Baroness Blackthorn, had unknowingly received several sets of documents which contained information Fury didn’t want our British cousin has their hands on. I was sent to retrieve them and leave a redacted and highly edited copy instead. She was supposed to have a business dinner before going to the theater. I checked her itinerary twice before I left the safe house. And nothing anyone knew said that it had changed in any way.” 

Phil risked a glance up and almost did a double take, Tony had shifted so that he was tucked under Clint’s arm. Other than that, he had the full attention span of both teenagers. He looked back down at this plate and stuttered, “Somehow she was waiting on me, but her intel was wrong. She thought I was coming to kill her. I suppose in retrospect that killing her probably would have been easier.” 

Phil shuddered, killing _was_ easier. The Army had trained him to kill and not care but that wasn’t what SHIELD was about, it was part of what had attracted Phil to the agency in the first place. Phil shuddered once more and continued, “She was waiting in her office when I slipped in. Revolver on top of the cleared desk. I tried to convince her that I wasn’t there to kill her and seemed to be making some headway when she stood and rounded the desk. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was explaining why I wasn’t there to kill her and the next she was ripping my clothes off. I just let her do whatever she wanted, my body let her do whatever she wanted.”

Phil stopped. The rest of the words didn’t want to come out. His throat froze, and he raised his hands to press the heels into his eyes. Phil jumped as his wrists were grabbed and pulled away from his face. Concerned gray eyes had looked at him before Clint used the hold he had on Phil’s wrists to drag him out of the chair. Phil watched as Tony shifted over moments before Phil was gently shoved down into the space the genius had occupied moments before. Phil’s blanket was deftly snugged around him before Clint had settled on his other side. They both moved in closer. Phil thought he should have felt trapped, instead though the feeling of being hunted eased. Phil had yet to find anything that had taken on the teens beside him and win. He settled back into the couch and told them, “She just left afterward, said let that be a lesson to the next fool trying to kill me. Somehow I managed to remember to exchange the documents and remembered how to get back to the safe house.” 

The gentle fingers returned to his hair, petting along the side of his head this time before Tony said, “Now we know the what, care to share the why?” 

Phil huffed, amused despite himself. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Nothing was said until Phil spoke explaining, “I never could figure out what the fuss of sex was all about, never saw what everyone around me saw when they looked at proclaimed beautiful people. There was no spark that ignited with my first kiss or desire for anything more than comradery. Thought maybe I hadn’t met the right person, but there were couple along the way that broke my heart good enough to disprove that theory. Man or woman, I’ve just never been interested in the physical portion of a relationship which always ends up with their disappointment and my heart break.”

The boney chin digging into his shoulder drew his attention down off the ceiling. Tony had laid his chin on the ball of Phil’s shoulder and was just staring at him. Waiting, Phil supposed, for whatever else he might say to explain his reaction. Phil rolled his eyes before leaning his head back against the backrest of the couch. It was quiet in his apartment at the time. Phil didn’t know how long they sat like that before the emotional roller-coaster caught up to him. Between the warmth and safety exuded by Clint and Tony and the familiarity of his couch in his apartment, Phil didn’t stand a chance when sleep came to take him this time. 

Phil was alone on the couch when he woke next. Bright clear sunlight streaming through his windows painting squares of warmth on his carpet, where it could be seen. Glancing around Phil almost sighed in relief when he noticed Clint sitting in his chair reading through one of his procedure manuals. Tilting his head slightly to read what was visible of the spine caused one of his eyebrows to raise up in skepticism. Phil opened his mouth to say good morning, really he did, unfortunately, what came out was, “How on earth can you read that without trying to gouge out your eyes?” 

Phil was once again impressed with the teenager when Clint didn’t even flinch before remarking, “Torture training.” And turning another page, for all intents and purposes thoroughly engrossed in the manual. 

Phil sat up and inspected his apartment. It was subtly cleaner than it had been the day before, which was likely a result of Clint Barton’s inability to sit still for any period of time without a gun pressed to his face. The sound of a turning page had broken the silent stillness before Clint said, “Coffee in the kitchen, Tony brewed it.” 

Phil considered not getting up, except his bladder chose that moment to remind him that it existed. The requirement for movement now decided Phil moved further into his apartment to clean up. Once complete and feeling more like himself than he had in days, Phil went towards the kitchen to grab the promised coffee. His favorite mug was filled and settled snug in the microwave to maintain warmth as long as possible. When Phil pulled it out and took a sip; he sighed in bliss as the bittersweet beverage tantalized his taste buds perfectly. He leaned against the counter and watch Clint for a moment before his eye was drawn to his coffee table. There sitting in the only space free of manuals and mission reports was an envelope with his name in Fury’s writing. Anxiety twisted in his stomach as he rounded the kitchen wall into the living room and picked up the letter. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil noticed Clint look up from the manual. The letter in his hand had an odd weight to it as if more than one piece of paper had been sent. Frowning with fear and curiosity warring for dominance inside, Phil opened the letter. 

Inside were three sheets of standard office paper numbered one through three. The first Phil only skimmed through. It was an official reprimand; Phil didn’t bother reading past that for the moment. He would come back to it later if necessary. The next was an official apology; Phil had to read that one twice. Apparently, Fury was apologizing for failure to update his records and due to new extenuating circumstances was placing Phil on short-term hiatus. The third was an official promotion complete with Fury’s stamp of approval. Phil had officially been promoted to Handler. Returning to the first piece of paper Phil realized that it wasn’t a reprimand towards him. It was a reprimand of Agent Witkowski, who had been assigned to the mission he had given Phil to complete in his stead. 

Phil fell back on his couch in wonder. Fury had been very clear when Phil had started his gig with the Marksman that the duties and responsibilities assigned to Phil were not going to change just because he was in charge of Clint, well as much as anyone could be in charge of Clint. Carefully, Phil placed the papers back on the coffee table and picked up his coffee. Phil sat staring out his window without seeing anything on the other side of the glass for a long moment before movement out of the corner of his eye had him jumping. Clint settled on the couch beside him just close enough that it unbalanced Phil’s position causing him to slide down into the archer. Phil was then jostled slightly when Clint reached for the papers from Fury. Moments later the papers were flicked back at the table, and Clint snorted with derision before stating firmly, “So Fury is trying to bribe you to stay. Apparently, the man understands angry Italian.” 

Phil relaxed the bit of tension that had found its way into his frame. If Clint wasn’t impressed with Fury’s notes, Tony wouldn’t be either. Neither of them would be starting in on the conversation about duty and responsibility and why give up a stable road for one bad pothole. Phil shifted slightly, so his back wasn’t to the archer before he asked, “What do you think?” 

The shoulder he was pressed against lifted in a shrug before Clint told him, “Doesn’t really matter what I think. Do you want to go back? They may not know today, but skeleton’s in closets have a way of falling out at the worst possible moment.” 

Phil took a sip of his coffee and thought it over. SHIELD was the niche he had thought he belonged. A place that understood him and he understood it. That perhaps had been a naive thought. Rolling the possibility around in his head Phil settled on a solution that felt right. Taking another sip of his coffee, Phil said, “I think I would consider returning permitting that I choose my missions with approval from Fury. No other interference or assignment permitted. I’d also want advanced training to mitigate the chances of something of this nature happening again.” 

Phil watched Clint lean back before the archer said in a tone that was far too casual to be anything but, “Tony and I can train you if you like, it won’t be easy but I can promise Fury won’t find anyone better than him and me.” 

Phil looked the teenager over and wondered if this hadn’t rattled the two of them more than the surface showed. Clint, Phil knew for a fact, was highly protective of the people he considered his and Tony Stark routine spouted off ‘don’t touch my stuff.' Phil covered his smile with a sip of his coffee before telling Clint, “Permitting you youngsters don’t break me, I’d be delighted to share your expertise.” 

The tension leaking out of the face beside him only showed minutely around the eyes. Phil was watching closely though and noticed it readily enough. Clint and Tony had been worried. Phil knew he had a long way to go before he could reasonably say that he was okay, but self-defense Marksman style and the ability to decline any mission not intimately sanctioned by Fury would go a long way to ensuring that Phil wasn’t put in a position where he would lose so spectacularly ever again. 

Phil let out a shuttering breath and decided he was all in, Tony and Clint might still one day disappear from his world without warning, but the logical part of Phil’s brain understood that holding back on account of a possibility only lead to a probability. Phil rested his coffee cup on his knee and stated quietly, “I’m not okay yet, I will be I think, but I’m not there yet. Nowhere close to there yet, but overall I’m a lot more okay today because of you and Tony so thank you. I’ll make sure to tell him that too, whenever he shows back up.” 

When Phil glanced up there was a crooked smile on Clint’s face before the archer said, “Just returning the favor you know? I don’t walk out of every mission right as rain and as fresh as daisies. We just didn’t realize until last night that you didn’t notice. Tony’s got nightmares, I’ve got a cinematic picture's worth of them and get a few more every mission. Somehow it usually works out that when one of us can’t sleep the other is rested enough to make it better. It’s gotten harder now that Tony’s rooming with Rhodes but we are still managing. We just thought you knew that insomnia, nightmares, and periods of not okay come with the territory of wet-works. It helps to know we do what we do for the right reasons but that doesn’t change the fact that things don’t go right every time, and sometimes they go very very wrong. Like that time that we taunted a super-secret sort of government agency who had the capabilities to blow me up. There were lots of nightmares on both our parts after that miscalculation.” 

Phil winced, he regretted that decision now, but at the time had felt like he had no other option. A gentle slug to his shoulder had Phil turning to look at Clint who just smirked and said, “Dude we are so good we’re gravy.” 

The cheesy line was so unexpected and terrible that Phil laughed. Watching the archer’s smug smile as he rubbed his fingernails on his black tee shirt Phil could only wonder at the turn his life had taken. Phil shook his head and the moment passed. After a few more seconds, Clint stood up and stretched. As the archer was walking towards Phil’s bedroom, presumably to the bathroom, Clint paused on the threshold between the two rooms and said, “You may not think it, but you’re one of ours now Phil, and we protect what’s our viciously.”

Before Phil could respond Clint had vanished into the depths of Phil’s apartment. A smile danced around the corners of his mouth. He had been wondering underneath the rest of the morning if Clint’s words had just been placating. It was delightful to learn that they hadn’t just been words. Phil leaned back against the couch and regarded Fury’s letter again. With a sly smirk, Phil grabbed his house phone and dialed the deputy directors personal line. He had some negotiations to orchestrate.


	2. When Fates Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been eight weeks and Phil's got it mostly under control these days, now he just had to make a choice. Go back or go forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No critical warnings here, just Phil and Fury and a conversation. 
> 
> This was originally going to be its own story, but on reflection, it didn't seem like it had enough potential to stand alone. So it's getting dumped in here. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> -AJ
> 
> P.S. If you have an idea for a one shot in this verse that would get stuffed in between 1987 and 2008 with the exclusion of Budapest and the Stark murders I would be interested in hearing it. Especially if it's fluffy. :)

The negotiations with Nick Fury had gone a lot like most peace talks; both sides demanding concessions but unwilling to compromise on getting to those concessions. In the end, Phil had been awarded eight weeks of paid time-off, which was apparently all of his vacation time that he had never used. Phil didn’t let Fury or, at the time, his two teenaged shadows know that he hadn’t had a clue that he was even accruing vacation time. That would have lead to conversations Phil just didn’t want to get into regarding reading the fine print. Fury had also demanded that he take the time to evaluate his life and decide if SHIELD was really the best choice of employment.There had been one or two veiled suggestions about engaging professional help, which had gone ignored since SHIELD did not employ a psychologist and what Phil would want to talk about was so classified his stamp had a stamp. Phil had at least conceded on using his vacation time and had promised to let Fury know before his time-off was up if he would be returning to the agency. 

In the eight weeks that had followed that conversation a great deal had happened in Phil’s life. Tony Stark had talked him into moving into an apartment in what the genius declared was a safer environment for his delicate sensibilities. Phil and Clint had spent almost four days sifting through his amassed collection of old mission reports and procedural manuals to decide what to keep and what to trash. Much to Phil’s amusement, Tony had shown up just as they finished with a team of movers and promptly handed Phil the keys to whatever living space the genius had determined was appropriate. It was far grander than anything Phil realistically thought he could afford. Anytime he tried to pin the genius down on what the rent actually was Tony would just brush his concerns aside and loftily declare that it was taken care of, don't worry so much. Which of course only made Phil worry.

The days that had followed were filled with leisurely unpacking mislabeled boxes (because someone had let Tony get his hands on the one and only sharpie) and lessons in Clint’s self-titled instruction of badassery. Phil figured the archer had stolen the term from Tony, it sounded like something the genius would produce. They hadn’t been lying to him when they had told him what they had to teach would be challenging and painful. There hadn’t been a single session that had gone by that hadn’t ended with Phil soaking in a hot tub or laying on his floor covered in bags of ice. The entire ordeal had given Phil a renewed appreciation of Clint and Tony’s fitness levels. They weren’t even winded after the sessions while Phil had sounded a lot like a wounded gazelle. 

Once he had gotten the basics down and didn’t die halfway through a lesson Phil learned the hard way that what Tony Stark lacked in physique he made up for in agility and cunning. The lessons in knife fighting had been a few of Phil’s favorites. He was entirely confident that he would never in his entire life ever pose a threat to Tony but near the end, he had at least begun to hold his own against Clint. Phil was even mostly sure that the archer hadn’t been holding back just because it was him.

With his defense skills up to par where his Marksmen wanted them Phil was beginning to feel the chafe of not having a routine, of not making a difference and catching the bad guys. He hadn’t yet managed to actually settle himself down and contemplate if he wanted to go back and if he didn’t, what he would do at that point. His deadline was fast approaching, the post-it note on his calendar reminded him every time he got the milk out. Phil just couldn’t force himself to sit down and make a decision. SHIELD’s rumor mill was one of the best, and Phil himself would readily admit that he had used it as a source of information more than once. The thought of the entire agency knowing just what had happened on his last mission stopped him dead in his thoughts and gave him cold sweats and nightmares. Sometimes it felt like Phil was his own worst enemy. 

Silence reigned in his apartment for once and was a terrible distraction, both Tony and Clint had pressing appointments that couldn’t be shuffled around to allow one of them to stay with Phil. They hadn’t left him alone for more than an hour since Phil had confessed. To begin with, Phil had been relieved. The teenagers were the perfect distraction to keep himself from dwelling on the consequences of events outside of his ability to effect. Phil had put his foot down when he had come out of a shower to Clint and Tony arguing about who would reschedule what, so they could be with him. It had been eight weeks. He could spend a day alone without any issues. A therapist might disagree but the equilibrium inside his head that let Phil know if he needed help had reset back to something resembling normal. It wasn’t a smooth balance by any means, but Phil could honestly and comfortably say that he had no desire to curl up in a hole and waste away to nothingness anymore. He had taken control of his life again and hadn’t that taken more willpower than Phil had expected. A fact that told him it had probably been done too soon. The deed was done, and he had relearned how to cope with the stresses of day to day humdrum. The next challenge would be returning to work.

As it was, this was the first morning in eight weeks that he was able to stand in his kitchen without the sound of another living breathing person shattering his silence. Phil liked silence, it was soothing. It gave and didn’t expect in return. He was in worn jeans that had randomly shown up in his drawer and one of Clint’s tee shirts because it was surprisingly comfortable standing barefoot in his kitchen sipping on coffee that he had brewed himself. With a roll of his eyes, Phil made a mental note to get Tony to teach him how to brew coffee. The genius did something that made his coffee tasted like heaven and smelled like home. Phil wanted to know what it was and was pretty sure he could sweet talk his way into learning the secret. Later, though, right at that moment the silence was bliss. 

Which was why, when a subtle beeping noise started Phil was immediately aware. He would have been aware even if he had been distracted since he had spent hours training himself to always be aware of that particular beep. The beep that signaled someone was standing at his door. It was a great way to freak the pizza delivery boy out. 

Setting his coffee cup down Phil moved to the table that stood behind his couch and readied his first projectile. Along the table were seemingly random knick knacks. All of which had been placed there with the intention of being thrown at intruders. When Phil was testing the system out to make sure that he had the timing right he had somehow nailed Clint with a cast iron ashtray left out to be a catch-all for change and keys from Phil’s pockets. The archer had been thrilled and demanded Phil show him how the setup worked. It had been a great moment and reminded Phil that while the teenagers attached to him were some of the most highly trained assassins in the world, there were still things that Phil could teach them. The dynamics of their friendship had changed subtly at that moment to something a great deal more balanced. 

Faint scratching at his lock drew Phil’s attention back to the present. Looking down at his watch, Phil reasoned if it were Clint on the other side of his door it would be opening in less than a minute. The archer had installed the lock on the door and said that there was a peculiar trick to getting it open with a set of picks that if someone weren't aware of would slow them down long enough for Phil to get something more deadly than his ashtray. 

As the second hand ticked past the starting point Phil’s hand moved to the drawer in the table and pulled the Stark nine millimeter special that had mysteriously appeared there about three weeks after Phil had finished settling in the apartment. The serial number on the weapon read two telling him exactly what source had produced the gun though Tony had denied it empathically.

A glance at his calendar showed him he still had three days before Phil needed to inform the Deputy Director of his decision. He had already made it, for the most part, but the idea of walking back into SHIELD still made his stomach twist unpleasantly in anxiety. The thought that his co-workers had been gossiping about his failure for the last eight weeks left him waking up from nightmares regularly. At least the nightmares of the mission had stopped, Phil was sure they would be back at some point to remind him that just because he had returned to life as it had been before, his life was no longer quite so idyllic. Phil often wondered if perhaps the loss of control was more damaging to his psyche than anything else had been. 

With a conscious effort Phil put the thoughts and memories aside, it would do him no good to dwell on them, especially with someone breaking into his apartment. The door swung open. Phil glanced down at this watch and noted that it took his intruder three minutes and some change to figure out the lock. With a shake of his head, Phil threw his ashtray which forced his intruder to duck and presented him with a larger target to shoot at, which Phil did aiming specifically to wound. 

His shot was dead on, hitting his intruder in the shoulder. There was a cry of pain before Nick Fury shouted, “God damn it, Coulson, stand down Agent.” 

Phil paused and lowered his weapon slightly and took a good look at the figure in his doorway and smirked. Leaning back against his table and crossing his arms, gun still in hand you never knew with Fury when it was prudent to shoot the man, Phil waited. Fury didn’t leave him hanging long before the deputy director announcing, “I’m going to straighten up and close the door.” 

Phil watched as Fury did just that, it felt surreal to have the man in his apartment. Once Fury had closed the door and retrieved the ashtray Phil asked, “So what brings you to my home Deputy Director?” 

Phil watched as Fury visibly winced before the man sighed, pressed a hand against his shoulder where there was a suspiciously wet looking spot on his trench coat before saying, “I’ve got a problem, a big problem. One that I’m going to need good agents I can trust to watch my back creeping up sooner than expected.” 

Phil nodded, that was the way of the spy world. He wasn’t sure what that had to do with him, but he was intrigued enough to find out more. Placing the gun back in its drawer Phil said, “Well then, hang your coat up and meet me in the kitchen. Blood is impossible to get out of the carpet.” 

While Fury was complying with his demands, Phil retrieved his medical kit from the linen closet next to the bathroom. It had come with the apartment, and one of these days he would figure out which one of his antagonist teenagers had decided he needed an industrial sized first aid kit and thank them. Clint came back from his missions with enough cuts and scrapes that Phil had learned how to make a neat stitch that healed to only a faint line. He was uncommonly proud of that skill. 

Fury was standing in his kitchen with his shirt sleeve pushed up poking at the wound when Phil walked back in. Rolling his eyes Phil snapped, “Stop that, you’ll make it worse.” 

Phil watched as Fury instantly stopped and looked up; a sardonic look in his eyes before he declared, “You were never a boy scout.” 

Phil chuckled and said, “No, but I probably should have been.” He flicked the overhead light on and pulled a pair of gloves out of the kit. Tweezers came next before he started picking the pieces of the bullet out of Fury’s shoulder. Thankfully it had hit the meat of the arm and not anything vital, or Phil would have had a giant mess on his heads. He didn’t know how Tony had done it but no matter what Phil shot with the pistol the rounds contained in it never did more than surface damage. The exception being a china teapot Phil had found in a dumpster when he had been getting a feel for the weapon and wanted something more challenging than a paper target to hit. The teapot had suffered a violent and messy end as the result of shattering. 

While his hands were busy with pulling bullet fragments out of Fury’s shoulder, Phil asked, “So tell me about this problem and why you think it’s so big you’d risk breaking into my apartment about it?”

The resulting sigh told Phil that Fury was hoping that he would just skip the details part and get straight to the how can I help part. Phil was self-aware enough to be conscious of the fact that before Clint and Tony, he very well might have done exactly that, these days he had something almost resembling a family and was hell pressed to take on anything that would endanger himself or his charges. Capable as they might be, Phil still felt responsible for shielding them from the nightmares of adulthood. Pretentious and assuming as the instinct was, Phil wanted both Clint and Tony to have somewhere that they could, and frequently did, have the freedom to be nothing more than adolescents in love. In return, Phil was invited to Tony’s graduation of his dual master's program and Clint’s advancement ceremony with the Marksman.Phil had been as proud as any parent at either event as his charges accepted their accolades. Even now, tucked safely into one of his many procedural manuals were programs for both events that he was determined to transfer to his storage unit with all the Captain America memorabilia. Perhaps he would even start a new scrapbook, this one with as many moments as he could scrape together so that one day when Phil was old and gray and tired, he could tell Tony and Clint’s kids about how their fathers were the best men Phil had ever had the pleasure to work alongside.

Fury broke through his wandering thoughts by starting, “I don’t know when it happened. Might have even been before I met him, but Peirce is, if not a part of, then definitely in league with, HYDRA. That’s problem one. Problem one-a is that whenever Peirce takes a work trip, we get sightings of the Winter Soldier. It’s suspicious enough that I’ll link the two together. I’m going to need eyes and ears on the ground feeding me information about his whereabouts and routine. To confront someone like the director of SHIELD who is a shoe-in for the World Security Council seat that is likely to become available in the next few years I’ve got to have more than circumstantial shit. More immediately, I’ve also got a report on my desk about the first confirmed Black Widow sighting since 1952. If the intel from Howard’s report is accurate, it looks like the same woman who went after him just showed back up on the radar. I’m going to need someone better than her to take care of that, and I’ve only got one man that I trust right now and two teenage hotheads with more balls than brains.” 

Phil hummed as he started setting his stitches. His mind turning over the information Fury had said, and making assumptions on what he hadn’t said. For a long moment, the only sound which broke his silence were Fury’s hisses of pain as Phil pulled his stitches tight. Once finished with the stitches Phil asked, “I am going to go out on a limb and say you don’t want to do anything with Director Peirce at the moment correct?” 

Phil caught Fury’s nod out of the corner of his eye as he was grabbing the gauze to wrap the wound. As his fingers wound the bandage around Fury’s bicep, his mind turned over possible solutions. He was securing the bandage with medical tape when he asked Fury, “That new agent, the one whose scores were off the charts in subterfuge, Sitwell I think. Has he been awarded a permanent assignment?” 

The poignant silence that reigned after his question told Phil that Fury most likely didn’t know. He either didn’t know who Sitwell was, or didn’t know if the new agent had been assigned an assignment. Snagging his coffee cup Phil leaned against his stove to watch Fury think before the other man told Phil, “My head say probably, but my gut says unlikely. It’s hard to place agents with his specialties.” 

Phil took a sip of his coffee and considered that; he had to agree with Fury. Phil himself had received unusually odd scores, and it had taken almost a year to find a Strike Team and assignment that suited his skills. Taking another sip of coffee Phil considered his words before he said, “If I were in your shoes, I would run Sitwell through the Flip test a couple of times before assigning him to Peirce as an aid. Have him report to someone considered unimportant and inconsequential that you can trust to know the big picture.” 

The smirk hovering around Fury’s lips when Phil looked back up at the man to see how his suggestion was received was concerning in several different ways. The first being that it made Fury look demented, the second because it meant that Phil had once again said exactly the thing that Fury wanted to hear. The third because it indicated that Phil had laid too many cards on the table and Fury _knew_ Phil was planning on returning to SHIELD. Fury’s smirk blossomed slowly as the deputy director said, “I knew you had SHIELD in your blood and couldn’t resist coming back.”

Phil glared and informed Fury, “I can resist it as much as needed. My skillset allows me a broad variety of employment opportunities and several of those foreign agencies that you so scorn have made more than one overture hinting that if I’m ever looking for a change of pace to call them. I’m not a twenty-something daredevil anymore Fury, and I have two teenagers who count on me to be there when their lives fall apart. Since they’re teenagers, their lives fall apart regularly enough to set my watch by them. Besides all of that, my last _big_ ,” Phil held up his free hand that wasn’t holding his coffee to make air quotes, “adventure ended rather spectacularly horrific. Personally, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not repeat that experience.” 

When Phil finished his rant, Fury had a peculiar look on his face before remarking, “You know, I expected you to excel at working with the Marksman. I never expected you to give a damn, though. At least not to the point that you would choose them over SHIELD. It’s nice to be proven wrong occasionally.” Fury gave him a nod before finishing, “So Agent, what will it take to get you back. You know my deal, so what’s yours?”

“You restructure mission appointments first and foremost. The missions need to be tailored to individual strengths and weaknesses. You should also consider a non-penalty option for assignments that are allocated to agents who don’t feel competent in completing them.” started Phil. He took another sip of his now cold coffee before continuing, “You should think about actually employing the Handler position as something more than a unit commander. Use experienced agents as Handler’s to mentor junior agents and report to the chain of command when things are hinky.” 

Phil watched as Fury nodded before the man made a please continue gesture with his uninjured arm. Phil looked past Fury’s shoulder as he thought. There were so many things he wanted to see put in place. Better training, better reporting channels, a command psychologist with the clearance to actually listen when agents had missions go wrong. Payscales, there was absolutely no reason why a woman doing the same job as a man, risking her life the same way as a man, should not be paid the same. The list went on. Phil blinked and took a drink of his cold coffee. Those were all changes he could affect if he returned to SHIELD. What did he need to feel comfortable returning? Fury waited patiently for him as Phil mauled over the problem. Finally, Phil looked up and told Fury, “To get me to say yes on returning to SHIELD I’m going to need your word that you will initiate a classification and confidentiality system and that my name is redacted from the report regarding Lady Blackthorn.”

Phil watched as Fury nodded once before saying, “Considering it done.” 

Blinking at the Deputy Director, Phil could just stand in shock. He hadn’t expected to get his demands so easily. Fury caught his look and chuckled and explained, “I wasn’t hedging when I told you I have a problem, and I’m going to _need_ men that I can trust. Men that I would feel comfortable leaving this agency to in the case of anything happening to me. Peirce is canny, but I’d lay money that between the two of us we are cannier. So Agent, are you with me?” 

Phil sighed, he felt like he had been played and masterfully. With a roll of his eyes, he conceded, “I guess I am, I’m holding you to my demands, though.” 

The laugh he started out of Fury caused a small pleased smile to curl the corners of his mouth upwards. Phil would never say it out loud, but SHIELD was in his blood, and he could never walk away from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have tied up those loose ends and put Phil back in SHIELD, laid the paving for Budapest and CA:WS. I have notes detailing 12/19/1991 which will help move things into Iron Man and beyond, so anyone worried that this is going to fizzle and die; don't. This story is my brain child, and I love writing here even though I really, honestly should start the next chapter of The Piper's Price. 
> 
> To anyone who wants an update on where I'm at with The Piper's Price, I'm storyboarding because I know where I want to end up, but I'm not 100% sure how to get there. It's a work in progress.

**Author's Note:**

> To those few of you who made it to the end, thank you. From the bottom of my heart thank you. 
> 
> P.S. To Miss_Glass_Doll who left kudos on one of the originals. Thank you very much.


End file.
